Heroes and Hero Complexes
by Emiliya Wolfe
Summary: Three years after the end of the second wizarding war, Harry finds out that the traits that make a good hero might not be the ones that make a good Auror.


QL - write about Ron's relationship with Harry

Hogwarts assignment 7, games sports task 1: write about two people building something together

Harry pressed against the wall, flattening himself against the rough stone. He remembered his training, that this might be a trap. He hadn't gone rushing in; he'd carefully swept the area for trigger wards and tripwires. Now, he waited for the back up he'd summoned before he entered the neo-Death Eater den.

Someone screamed: the voice of one who had been tortured beyond hope of rescue, but couldn't help but cry out anyway.

Screw back up.

Harry launched himself into a diving roll, avoiding the inevitable stunner of the sentries, scanning the room for possible barricades…

A large alarm sounded, and the illusion crumbled.

'You have failed the senior Auror assessment,' intoned the cool female voice of the Ministry. 'Please make your way to one of the scanning booths to assess your injuries. Thank you.'

Harry swore, picked himself up and stomped over to get himself poked and prodded by a Healer trainee for the inevitable half an hour. They always lingered around the famous Harry Potter.

Ron sighed, exiting the viewing box. There was no point in trying to convince Kingsley this time. Harry had shown his greatest weakness in a fight once again — ironically the thing that had made him such a hero in the eyes of the wizarding world today. His inability to leave a man behind was so well known that it would be impossible to give Harry his own command until he learned to smother his instincts. Otherwise, he just proved a liability.

But Harry had trouble understanding that.

Ron checked his watch. He had just about enough time for a cup of tea and a chocolate frog before the inevitable confrontation.

In fact, he had only taken the smallest sip before he caught sight of his messy-haired friend storming through the Ministry corridors, cloak billowing behind him. Abandoning the tea without regret — it was never that good anyway — Ron hurried after him.

'Harry! Oi, Harry!' he called.

To his surprise, Harry stopped, turning with a scowl upon his face. Ron could only hope that the scowl was skin deep. He didn't need a full blown Harry-trum in the middle of the Ministry, even if his friend had got better at controlling his temper in recent years.

'It's all right, Harry,' Ron said simply, unconsciously taking on the tone he used when one of Hermione's law proposals didn't make it to the Wizengamot. 'Most wizards don't even make Auror 'till their third year, let alone Senior Auror!'

'You did,' Harry pointed out rather sullenly.

Ron had to pause at that. The feeling of being good at something, even better than Harry, was still surreal. Sometimes, it felt good. Today, he just felt crap.

'Well, what can I say?' Ron asked, opting for humour. 'Must be all those family connections.'

Harry's lips twitched at that. Although Weasley had become a household name, they both remembered a time when Ron's father had been held in contempt for his unusual obsession with Muggles.

'Wouldn't put it past Percy to have slipped Shacklebolt a few Galleons,' Harry quipped eventually.

That mental image had the both of them roaring with laughter, Harry's unusual failure forgotten.

'Come on,' Ron said as he wiped his eyes. 'Kreacher will be waiting.'

Harry's eyes brightened as they made their way to the Apparition area. 'Maybe he'll have some of that French onion soup left.'

Ron privately grinned. If Harry's mind was on food, they were safe 'till Hermione got back.

'Why don't you teach him?'

Ron's jaw dropped. If he hadn't already been lounging in an armchair by the fire, Hermione's words, delivered so matter-of-factly for what they were, might have knocked him off his feet.

'Me?' he spluttered. 'Are you mental? I can't teach to save my life.'

'You taught me chess,' Hermione pointed out.

That was true. Hermione had been terrible at both the Muggle and wizarding versions of the game. After their passionate kiss at the end of the war (and the one after a few drinks a month later), neither Ron nor Hermione had felt the spark return. Ron teaching Hermione chess had helped them push back the awkwardness without them descending into their usual squabbles — Ron loved chess and Hermione loved learning.

'This is different,' Ron argued after a moment. He pictured talking to Harry as if he was a raw recruit and grimaced. 'This is Harry.'

Of course, Hermione understood exactly what he meant.

'You won't be prepping a firing squad!' She laughed, and Ron frowned at the Muggle expression. 'Just… try to explain it in a way he understands. Don't be condescending.'

'You mean it's not Leviosar?' Ron quipped.

Hermione flushed, but flashed him a wry grin.

'Laugh it up, Ron,' she said. 'Just remember that I can indulge in memories of the slug incident whenever I like.'

Ron imagined Hermione regaling Senior Auror Clearwater with that particular tale and opted to say nothing further on the subject.

'What if I owl them?'

'The owl can be intercepted.'

'What if I Floo them?'

'You remember how well that went with Sirius.'

Harry winced and fell quiet, shoving rubbish from the attic into bin bags. Hermione had finally convinced them to clear it out after four years.

'What if I send them a Patronus?' he asked a moment later, hitting upon an idea. 'Those can't be faked.'

'Better,' Ron allowed. 'But enemies could hear your Patronus, or even instruct the victim on what to send, presuming they can even cast such a high-level spell.'

Harry slumped back and rubbed his eyes.

'Then how am I supposed to know that it's not a trap?' he cried out, throwing his hands up in defeat.

'That's the whole point,' Ron explained. 'Here.' He summoned a couple of the shrivelled up house-elf heads from their rubbish bin. One, he set up on the rickety old rocking chair in the corner of the room. The other, he placed on the floor in front of them.

'You've always got at least two scenarios in which you're uncertain. In one,' he pointed to the head on the chair, 'the "victim" is safely at home, but unable to contact you. In the other,' he motioned towards the other head, 'the "victim" is in imminent danger. In yet another scenario, they could be fine, but the criminal is baiting you.'

'But how am I supposed to know which one it is?' Harry interrupted.

'I'm getting to that. You have to think that all these scenarios are happening at once. You prepare for all of them, and that way, you have a course of action when you find out more. But you always have to expect the worst. So if you go in, wand blazing, you're killing the "victim" and yourself.'

'But what if I could save them?' Harry persisted. 'If we hadn't gone after Ginny, she'd have died!'

Ron flinched, and Harry cursed himself. Fred had died. A part of Ron had always blamed himself and the rest of his family for not paying more attention that day.

'You had me,' Ron said simply, and the weight of that sentence struck a chord with Harry. Hadn't he said himself that he would have died without Ron and Hermione at his side?

'No matter how urgent the situation is, you never go in without a partner, so one of you can call for help if the other is incapacitated. It takes all of five minutes,' Ron continued.

'But—'

'Imagine if it was me. Or Hermione. You wouldn't be telling us to charge in, would you?'

'Well… no…'

'So,' Ron said with an air of finality. 'Don't do it yourself.'

Harry couldn't find a counter argument to that, so he took satisfaction in zooming the heads back into the bin. When did Ron become so good at arguing? he wondered.

He suspected Hermione had something to do with it.

'Bloody hell, Harry, what was that?' Ron asked, wiping the sweat off his face with a cloth. The last time he'd had this much of a workout was when he'd played Keeper at Hogwarts.

Harry smirked. 'You told me to treat you as an enemy.'

'Yeah, I didn't mean literally, you know.' Ron rolled his eyes. 'You were supposed to show me how you'd fob off a dozen enemies, not set the whole place on fire.'

'Well, that's what I'd do.'

Ron rolled his eyes a second time. They'd been working on Harry's application for the position of Senior Auror in their spare time, trying to make up for his weakness.

'And the person they were holding hostage?' he asked. 'They'd fry to bits without a wand.'

'I… hadn't thought of that,' Harry admitted, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly.

He still had an air of defiance, though, one that said that Harry wouldn't admit his hero complex could be a flaw. It was that attitude, that unwillingness to bend, that stopped Harry from being promoted. Ron could see it as clear as day. After over two months of training, perhaps it was time for some tough love.

'Do you just think everyone else is incompetent, or something?' he asked.

Harry frowned, his grin drooping. 'What do you mean?'

'I mean, not everyone needs to be saved.' Ron could see Harry's mouth opening in a retort, so he hastily added: 'That's why Ginny broke up with you, you know. She's not the twelve-year-old girl you rescued from a Basilisk. Hell, someone tried to kidnap her in the changing room before a big game and the Healers had to spend two days on him to remove all the fused jinxes.'

Ron kept his face impassive where once he would have betrayed himself with a laugh. It was hard; the man's bogeys had taken it upon themselves to give him a new hairstyle. And add to his earwax.

He kept the expression long enough to drive his point home, then opened the door to let Harry pass out. His friend was quiet, his face drawn. He didn't like being reminded of when he was wrong, but this was the only way to help Harry improve.

Ron hoped he did. After all the shit Harry had been through, he deserved to be top of his profession. If it were up to Ron, Harry would be leading the department.

A strange sensation overcame him. Perhaps it was because they had grown up, and perhaps it was because of all they had been through in that year on the run, but Ron realised he was no longer jealous of Harry. He simply wanted him to be happy.

That night, Hermione owled them to say she'd be working late again. They were close to coming to an agreement on the latest protection of magical creatures, and it was too important not to use her "hero" status to its full potential. Ron reckoned there were only so many times they could play that card.

It just so happened to coincide with Kreacher's "day off" — a monthly occurrence where Harry officially let Kreacher hunt for Black family heirlooms all day and gave him no household duties. It made Kreacher happy and loyal, and the Trio could speak of the Blacks and Malfoys with as much disgust as they liked.

The last part was Ron's favourite.

So why was it that when he arrived a few hours later than Harry, caught up in potential leads for a new case, Ron felt so out of place?

The warm smells of homemade cooking drafted in through the open kitchen, though Ron shouldn't be surprised to see Harry cooking. They'd most likely starve otherwise.

'Bacon,' he said dreamily by way of greeting, closing his eyes for a moment to better inhale the scent.

Harry laughed and added a few rashers to the pan. He stepped back to reveal a mountain of food on the plate behind him.

'I know it's a bit weird, after work, but I know bacon sarnies are your favourite and, well,' Harry paused to look away, ruffling his hair — 'I wanted to say thank you.' He looked Ron in the eye for a moment, before turning back to the bacon. 'For everything.'

'You don't have to thank me for anything, mate,' Ron said sincerely, and if it sounded like he was a sap, then he was a bloody sap. He found that tears had sprung to his eyes, so he quickly shoved one of the sandwiches in his mouth. 'Thif ish really goo'!' he exclaimed with his mouth full.

Harry laughed, and the moment was gone. Quickly and efficiently, they wolfed down the sandwiches as if it was their last meal on Earth.

Some things never change, Ron thought, remembering their second year with a smile.

'What is it?' Harry asked, catching onto his humour.

'Just remembering the night we flew my dad's car into the Whomping Willow,' Ron said. 'Of all the blooming trees!'

This elicited a chuckle, and when Harry reached for more at the same time as him, Ron felt their hands brush with an undercurrent that had never existed in the ten years they had known each other.

The tension was suddenly back. Ron inwardly groaned. They were in for a long night.

This time, the lights didn't blare. The siren didn't sound. And Harry walked to the trainee Healer office with a skip in his step.

It had been three months, not six, since he last failed the Senior Auror assessment, and Kingsley had asked him a week ago whether he was up to a private session. After making sure this wasn't some kind of PR stunt — Kingsley had never looked so betrayed — Harry had readily accepted.

Even Hermione had taken the day off work, saying that she wanted to be there to celebrate when he came out.

After having a brief word with the Head of Department, Harry threw open the doors with a huge grin. He debated letting his best friends stew for a while, but their expectant faces had him bursting out with the news as soon as the doors closed.

'I didn't get it!' he cried.

Hermione's mouth shut with a tiny clap, but Ron's eyes narrowed a little in anticipation.

'I just got offered a job as a hit wizard instead!'

'Oh, Harry!' Hermione gushed, throwing her arms around his neck and planting a kiss on his cheeks. 'That's wonderful.'

It was a testament to how grouchy he had been, Harry thought, that she hadn't lectured him on the dangers of the profession.

'That's wicked, mate.' Ron grinned, and then hugged him where before he might have clapped him on the back.

The hug wasn't unwelcome. Unlike Hermione's motherly embrace, it felt different… more personal. Private. Without thinking, Harry felt his lips brush Ron's cheek in an imitation of Hermione's, his heart lurching as he did so.

Instead of the stiffened shoulders and puzzled look he had expected, Ron's ears went red and he mumbled incoherently, his blue gaze searching Harry's green eyes.

Ever the insightful one, Hermione tactfully declared that she had forgotten her bag at work — despite one being on her shoulder — and told them she'd meet them at the teashop they had planned to have cake at.

Harry and Ron stared at each other for a moment, aware that in following her advice they would be breaking all the rules of their friendship, starting anew.

A fresh start, Harry thought. Turning the page from who I once was. He bumped Ron's shoulder, and just like that, they were on their way, walking a little closer to each other than usual.

It didn't sound so bad.


End file.
